


Burning Alexandrite

by LaBelladoneX



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Humor, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 04:59:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15923369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaBelladoneX/pseuds/LaBelladoneX
Summary: Alexandrite is a rare chrysoberyl gemstone that changes from a lush green emerald colour by day to ruby red at night. The title (courtesy of LightofEvolution) suggests a secret relationship between Draco and Hermione; by day he is Slytherin through and through — aloof, entitled, detached — but, by night, he burns with a passionate flame for the love of his life.The Slytherin is me, my laptop is red.Burning Alexandrite is currently a collection of my drabbles written for Facebook’s Strictly Dramione page, let's see where it goes...





	1. Through A Glass, Darkly

**Author's Note:**

> Late in 2002, my life changed overnight from rosy pink to devastatingly black and, for fifteen years, I lived in a haze of grey. My heart was lifted again the day I discovered fanfiction and I truly believe it gave me my life back. Burning Alexandrite is dedicated to the friends I’ve met on my fanfiction journey, and to the artists that inspired my words. 
> 
> Rachel x

 

[ https://www.deviantart.com/art/Mirror-of-Erised-165499466 ](https://www.deviantart.com/art/Mirror-of-Erised-165499466)

THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY

Draco walked down a corridor as dark as his mood, staring at the aged tiles spread out before him. Returning for eighth year was turning out to be the hardest thing he’d ever done. No matter where he went, she was there.  
  
Haunting him.  
  
His heart ached for her.  
  
Hearing a footstep, he followed the sound to a door hidden in the shadows. The echo could have been coming from any direction as it reverberated around the cold stone walls, but this door seemed to beckon to him. Draco turned the iron handle and stepped in, looking up to find her smiling and reaching for him. His heart leapt as he ran, only to come face to face with an image of himself appearing and embracing his witch. She laughed as this imposter swung her around, stealing a passionate kiss. Draco fell to his knees, realising he had discovered the Mirror of Erised. _Why?_ Wasn’t he tormented enough?  
  
Another footstep. Tears pricked his eyes as he threw himself forward, his fingers clawing at the glass. “Please,” he cried. “Hermione! Why can’t I love you?”  
  
Images floated before him, tearing at his dying heart. More footsteps echoed in his ears as he watched; wild curls draped across silk sheets, her naked body writhing in ecstasy as his image kisses her breasts and fills her womb. A little girl with her eyes and his colouring, climbing up onto a chair in his library to mimic her mother’s love of knowledge. A smaller boy, sitting on a toy broomstick and flying around the Manor’s rose garden, his older sister chastising him with her hands on her hips.  
  
Draco bowed his head and sobbed. The footsteps were louder now and, through his tears, he heard her voice. _Why are the Gods torturing me?_  
  
He felt a small hand gently rest on his shoulder. _Stop this fucking persecution!_  
  
“You’re not real,” he spat. “You’re not here.”  
  
“I am.”  
  
“If you’re so fucking real—” he stabbed a finger towards the Mirror, “—then tell me what you see in _that.”_  
  
“I see you, Draco. I see you swinging me around, making me laugh before you kiss me. I see us making love; I see our daughter and our son.” Hermione knelt beside him, reaching to take his tear-stained cheeks in her hands. “I see what you do... because I want it, too.”


	2. A Chilly Reunion

A Chilly Reunion by LastBornSlytherin, submitted for D/Hr Advent 2017.  
“Stop crying like that, Granger. Your tears are going to freeze to your face.”  
Image no longer available, permission from artist to post.

A CHILLY REUNION

A bout of insomnia during her sixth year at Hogwarts had Hermione Granger frequently roaming the school’s dark halls at night. Sometimes she would sneak back into the library and investigate the Restricted Section; other times she’d find herself atop the Astronomy Tower staring at the night sky.

It was a cloudless night when Draco Malfoy stepped up beside her, gripping the rail with despair.

“I need your help.”

She brought him to Harry. Not Ron. They got him to the Order and saved his mother; his father was left behind.

The unlikely pair stayed at Grimmauld Place and researched Horcruxes. They debated and considered, working in both harmony and discord. Somewhere along the line, in the depths of a war in which they were child soldiers, the Gryffindor and the Slytherin fell in love.

An ambush split them apart; her screams of grief tore their cloudless night apart. His cries of pain ripped at her soul. Before she could react, she was whisked away to begin a hunt that she never wanted to begin without him.

Like Pandora, all Hermione was left with was hope. Hope that he made it; hope that he was thinking of her as much as she thought of him.

A bleak winter threatened all hope, until the day she saw a blond head in the distance and ran. For once, Hermione Granger ignored the rules. The cold bit at her face and she slipped on ice patches as she screamed his name and prayed she was right.

He turned. In later years, Draco would tell her how his heart almost burst seeing her running towards him. He moved just as quickly. Together they grasped hold of their lifelines - each other.

“Stop crying like that, Granger. Your tears are going to freeze to your face.”

“I’m just so happy to see you.”


	3. Protection

[ http://mariyand-r.tumblr.com/image/151624786089 ](http://mariyand-r.tumblr.com/image/151624786089)  - “Dramione”  
  
PROTECTION

Hermione tore through the corridors as if fiendfyre itself was hot on her heels. Harry and Ron barrelled after her, shouting but failing to catch up. The crowds of evacuating students filled the stairs, causing Hermione to hurl herself over the bannisters of the seventh floor landing and free fall to what seemed like her imminent death. Two, three, four seconds passed before she shouted the spell to cushion her landing — _Arresto Momentum._  
  
Harry leaned over the bannisters to see her tiny figure dashing across the ground floor towards the dungeons.  
  
“HOPE THIS WORKS, MATE!”  
  
Ron’s voice whistled past Harry as the redhead threw himself over the railing and proceeded to drop.  
  
“Fuck this!” The Chosen One muttered, following suit.  
  
Seconds ahead of them, Hermione pounded on the main door to the dungeons. Tears streaming down her face as she screamed his name.  
  
“DRACO! PLEASE! DRACO! OPEN THE DOOR!”  
  
Her fists throbbed with pain as she hit the heavy oak time and time again, her throat raw from her cries.  
  
“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore tenderly placed a hand on her shoulder, as Harry and Ron rounded the corner at breakneck speed.  
  
“Please—” she wept, “I...I...”  
  
“It’s alright, my dear,” the old man assured her, “allow me.”  
  
With a wave of the Headmaster’s hand, the door swung open and Hermione barged inside.  
  
Draco Malfoy stood in the middle of the room, staring into the depths of the Great Lake. He was alone; his tears falling in private. The rest of the Slytherins had either left to fight alongside their Death Eater families, or were being evacuated to safety with the rest of the school.  
  
“They’re coming for me,” he said quietly, without turning around, “It’s safer if you go. Leave me.”  
  
Hermione ran past the Headmaster and barrelled into him.  
  
“We’ll take you to the Order,” she urged, looking up into those cool grey eyes she loved with all her heart. “You’ll be safe. Draco, please —”  
  
“Draco?” Ron whispered to Harry, “Since when did he become-”  
  
“Since they fell in love, Mister Weasley,” Albus Dumbledore smiled.  
  
Harry and Ron were speechless. They could only stare as Draco wrapped his arms tightly around Hermione and tucked her head under his chin. He towered over her, his arms holding her close.  
  
Hermione looked scared as she caught the shocked faces of her two best friends.  
  
“Don’t ask me,” she pleaded. “Don’t make me choose. Because I won’t—”  
  
It only took a moment to decide.  
  
“Mione, it’s alright,” Harry stepped forward.  
  
“We look after our own,” Ron smiled. “Hurry, Malfoy. This way.”


	4. Hogwarts Express

<https://skyltik.deviantart.com/art/Hogwarts-Express-330183358>  
  
HOGWARTS EXPRESS

Monday, 4th January 1999

The Hogwarts Express was jammed with returning students, all bundled up from the January frost. Hermione Granger fought her way through the throng to find an empty carriage, eventually coming across one near the luggage car.

Rifling through the rolls of parchment sticking out of her bag — she was sure the essay on Elvish laundry spells was in there somewhere and, no doubt, Professor Constantine would give them a pop quiz during their next class — she suddenly found herself face to face with none other than Draco Malfoy.

“Granger,” he acknowledged politely.

“Malfoy,” she replied, holding her head up high. He was not going to goad her anymore. War had given Hermione an inner strength and confidence that she quickly summoned as she stood proudly before him. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you, I expect,” he answered, his tone still formal, “I just wanted somewhere quiet to read.”

“What are you reading?” Typical Hermione - one mention of the “R” word and she was anyone’s. Well… not anyone’s. But interested. Big time.

“‘Theories on the History of Starlings’ by Smoak and Queen.”

Draco raised the book to show her the front cover before lowering it back to down to his right side. His left hand remained in his trouser pocket in that ‘I’m so sexy but I pretend I don’t know it’ way which had every hormonal girl — and the odd boy — drooling in school.

Hermione’s face lit up. “Isn’t it brilliant? I finished it over the holidays. What did you think about their thoughts on hives and glades? Their interviews with Lance and Harper in relation to—”

“Granger,” he quipped, “I think you should draw breath before you choke.”

A smile graced his handsome features, reaching up to his silver eyes and causing them to sparkle with amusement. What just happened to her insides? Oh, yeah. Draco Malfoy did.

He waved his hand towards the empty carriage, inviting Hermione to step in before him. She automatically accepted his gesture, moving to sit on one side whilst he took the other. The conversation continued without pause; a riveting debate on the pros and cons of starlings in the city, which is better - the Black Canary or the White, the natural habitat of Lian Yu.

The flow of dialogue never stopped until the sweet trolley passed by and Draco treated them both to a luxury selection of Mongolian toffees. The conversation had to stop for a while, however, as they struggled to pry their teeth apart, drawing howls of laughter from them both.

They stopped laughing suddenly as they caught each other’s eyes, welcoming the thoughts that flowed through their minds in those brief moments.

_This is how it should have been._

_We really could get on together as friends._

_Could we be more?_

_I want to._

_So do I._

“Would you like to accompany me to Hogsmeade this weekend… Hermione?”

“I’d really like that, Draco.”


	5. Monochrome

[ http://book-snake.tumblr.com/ ](http://book-snake.tumblr.com/) \- “The Dark Lord is Calling”  
  
MONOCHROME

It was such a relief to get out! 

Hermione Granger could forget all about the war for a few hours. Harry and Ron were holed up in their Grimmauld Place bedroom — preparing to steal whatever it was they had to extract from Bellatrix’s vault — and everyone else was far too busy to notice that she’d just walked straight out the front door.    
  
A ten-minute stroll took her to an up-market part of London. This area was more illuminated — more vibrant.  _ Alive. _ There were hundreds of people milling around and, despite the fact that she could easily be recognised, Hermione really didn’t care. Standing on the doorstep of a regency townhouse, she looked up and smiled at the light coming from the window she knew he’d be standing close to — a firewhiskey would be dangling from his long, magical fingers.    
  
She used her key to open the door and stepped into the stylish hallway, removing her jacket to hang it on the mahogany coat stand, along with her hat and gloves. Her Converse were next, followed by her socks, jeans, and plain black hoodie, leaving her in a white silk camisole with matching knickers — the epitome of innocence.    
  
He didn’t turn around when she entered the room. He stayed very still; the only sound the slight clink of ice cubes. She walked over, sliding her hand over his to take the glass to her lips before placing it on the bureau. He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing as she ran her hands across his back before wrapping them fully around him.    
  
“I’ve missed you,” she sighed. “I thought your message would never come.”   
  
“It’s been hard to get away,” he spoke quietly. “The thoughts of this are all that keep me going.”   
  
Hermione walked around to face her love; the man she wanted more than life itself, the soul she wanted desperately to save. 

Draco Malfoy.   
  
“Have you thought about what I suggested?”   
  
“Can we not do this now? I just want to hold you.”   
  
She smiled, taking his hand and leading him to the luxurious king-size bed. He had the house for just over a year, decorating each room in a stylish but masculine way — all whites, blacks, and greys. There wasn’t a hit of red and gold, green or silver.

“No colour will ever divide us again,” he’d said. That’s why she always wore white, finding herself quite amused when he stripped to reveal emerald-green boxers. “I had no time to change,” he muttered as she laughed.   
  
They slept for a while in each other’s arms, wrapped tightly together as if it was their last night on this earth.    
  
The sound of breaking glass pulled Hermione from her dreams a little later. She sat up to find Draco hunched over the bed with a shard in one hand and his Dark Mark fully on display — the charm he usually used to conceal it obviously worn off.    
  
“Draco! What—”   
  
“Look at me, Hermione! What help will the Order give scum like me? All because of  _ this!” _ __   
  
She gasped, tears falling as he stabbed the glass into his skin.   
  
“Make it go away,” he whispered, almost frantically. “Make it go, make it go, make it go!”   
  
Hermione leapt forward and grabbed the weapon from Draco’s hand, slicing her own skin in the process. She waved a healing spell across them both, sending him into a further rage as the Dark Mark  _ again _ looked as good as new. He jumped up and began pacing along the side of the bed, ripping his nails across the slightly reddened skin.    
  
“ _ Look at it!  _ It won’t leave me be! It won’t let me live! I’m fucking branded for life with this... __ this …” Draco broke down, falling onto the bed, his face in his hands.     
  
“I’m branded a sinner, Hermione. A worthless—”   
  
“No colour will divide us, Draco,” she whispered, kissing him tenderly. “No marks will define us. I love you. Come home with me tomorrow.”   
  
He shook in her arms. “Help me, Hermione. Please help me.”


	6. Thanking Tiddles

  
  
[](http://elithien.tumblr.com)http://elithien.tumblr.com  
  
THANKING TIDDLES

Draco stood by one of the dormitory windows, his skin slightly green from the Great Lake’s darkened reflection. Arms folded, his handsome features were marred by a deep frown and pinched bottom lip.

“I don’t know what to do,” he mumbled, before throwing his arms up and laughing hysterically. “I don’t know what to do!”

His confidant could only blink a rather large eye in response, suckering a few tentacles to the glass as if to offer support. They had become quite close over the years — Draco and Tiddles.

Who knew giant squids were such good listeners?

The young Slytherin began to pace as the creature followed his movements.

“I’m free, you know,” He paused to address the creature directly. “Completely free for the first time in my life. No Lucius to bully me, no mother to suffocate me, no Dar-Voldemort to terrify me. I’m _completely_ free! How does that Muggle song go? The future’s so bright, I’ve got to wear glasses — or something.”

Another supportive blink.

“But the one thing I want to do… the person I want most... I’m too bloody scared… Tiddles, what are you looking at?”

Draco watched closely as the giant squid turned its attention to his desk under the second window in the small room and began to blink furiously.

Confused but curious, he leaned across and placed his hand on his quill. “Do you want me to write something down?”

Tiddles shook his oversized head.

Draco’s hand moved across various pieces of parchment, text books, and potions, before landing on a small notebook. As soon as his fingers touched the cover, Tiddles stayed perfectly still and blinked once.

“This?” His human friend asked. “But this is Granger’s, she only gave it to me this morning. It’s her notes on the new Ancient Runes assignment. What would…”

Draco’s voice trailed off as he flicked through the pages. He’d never looked at Hermione’s penmanship before — her neat handwriting outlining details and ideas, her diagrams so tiny and perfect. And her lists, all those endless lists…

Her handwriting.

Draco’s eyes shot up. “Do you think…?”

If a giant squid could nod frantically, Tiddles would have whiplash.

Wrenching open his top drawer, Draco pulled out a badly knitted green pouch and untied it with slightly shaking fingers. A tiny flask of Felix Felicis dropped out with a folded note.

_Malfoy, I always hoped you’d never need this but I think you should take two drops every day between now and — well, I don’t know when. If you need more, write on this parchment, I’ll get the message and send you more. You don’t need to know who I am. In fact, it’s better if you never find out. I’ve loved you for too long but you’ll never be mine. If you do this for me, at least I’ll know you’ll be safe. Be happy in your life. You deserve happiness. I just wish… be safe. Let me know if you need more._

It wasn’t signed.

Draco had done what the stranger asked; he’d taken two drops of the potion every day and survived every curse thrown at him. He wasn’t a religious person but took a moment every night since he’d been fully acquitted to thank the gods for the angel who had kept him safe and free. He always swore he’d find out who she was. Although he did accept that perhaps it could very well be a ‘he’. Modern times and all that.

But looking at Hermione Granger’s handwriting in front of him, there was absolutely no doubt that she was his saviour in those times of darkness.

Draco looked up at Tiddles. “It’s her.”

Blink.

He ran.

He ran through corridors, down hallways, up stairs, down stairs, through ghosts, until he eventually found Hermione coming out of the library. Why the _fuck_ didn’t he just look there in the first place!

“Granger! Wait!”

She turned, her long hair waving gently in the breeze from a nearby open window. The sun was shining directly at her, the scarlet shade from her Gryffindor hood colouring her skin in a light blush. Merlin, she was beautiful.

“Malfoy, are you finished with my notes already?”

Draco strode forward, placing his hand tenderly at the side of her neck and gazing into the depths of her dark eyes. His thumb caressed her flawless skin.

“It was you.”

There was no point denying it.

“Yes, it was me.”

“You kept me safe.”

“I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Why didn’t you tell—”

“Why would I? If you knew I gave you the Felix, would you have taken it? It was simpler to remain anonymous.”

“Do you still feel the same way?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But, it _does_. If I told you I’ve been in love with you for years, would it matter then?”

“Have you?”

“Merlin, yes!”

“My feelings haven’t changed,” she whispered.

“Good.”

Draco leaned forward and tenderly placed his lips on Hermione’s. She responded immediately; moving against him as they discovered just how much they meant to each other.

“Hermione.” He pulled back to smile at his witch, his thumb still tenderly rubbing her skin. “What would you buy a giant squid as a present?”


	7. Rose Weasley, Aged 7 and a Half

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble inspired the one-shot T.W.A.T. - Tonks Weasley Amour Toujours

[](https://www.deviantart.com/upthehillart/art/Routine-599386357) https://www.deviantart.com/upthehillart/art/Routine-599386357  
  
ROSE WEASLEY, AGED 7 AND A HALF

  
_Sigh..._   
  
I absolutely adore Aunt Hermione. I want to be just like her when I grow up. She’s  _ so _ beautiful, and she’s like really, _ really _ important. She has a big job where Daddy and Uncle Harry work, and she’s sooooo funny. She does all the voices when she reads me a bedtime story and, when she laughs, her nose wrinkles up in a par-tic-milar way. It’s the cutest thing EVER!

Aunt Hermione is the world’s bestest auntie.    
  
Em… I don’t really like Aunt Hermione’s husband. Mummy doesn’t either but she says we’re too polite to say so.    
  
I’ve been staying with Aunt Hermione and her husband for the weekend as Mummy and Daddy went away on a short holiday to visit Uncle Charlie and his dragons. Uncle Charlie is so nice; I saw him helping Aunt Hermione’s husband’s mummy last week when she got something caught underneath her dress and Uncle Charlie pulled it out with his teeth. It must have really hurt Aunt Hermione’s husband’s mummy because she screamed loudly but seemed very happy afterwards. And Uncle Charlie was grinning so he must have been very proud of himself.    
  
I’m going home this morning, Daddy’s going to collect me. Aunt Hermione and her husband are getting ready to go to work. He looks very angry and keeps pulling out his pocket watch to check the time. His waistcoat has the same pattern as the wallpaper but I’m not telling him in case he gives out. I don’t think he likes girls very much. Now he’s charmed his tie to fix itself. It’s probably because he can’t do one properly. Aunt Ginny is always fixing Uncle Harry’s. I don’t know why boys have to wear them but I saw Mummy wear one of Daddy’s around her wrists one night when I was supposed to be asleep so maybe ties are useful for something.    
  
_ Sigh _ … 

Aunt Hermione looks sooooo lovely. Her dress is red, like the Hogwarts house she was in with Mummy, Daddy, Uncle Harry, Aunt Ginny, Uncle Charlie, Uncle Bill, Uncle Percy, Aunt Audrey, Uncle Fred, Aunt Angelina, Uncle George, and Aunt Katie, Nana Molly, and Grandad. But not Aunt Hermione’s husband, or Aunt Hermione’s husband’s mummy.    
  
Aunt Hermione is wearing really high-heeled black shoes with red soles. Aunt Hermione’s husband’s eyebrows went funny when he saw them but that was probably because he was worried Aunt Hermione might fall over wearing them. They are very high — like really, really high. But Aunt Hermione seemed perfectly alright putting them on and wiggled her eyebrows right back.    
  
Aunt Hermione’s husband keeps twirling his wand in his hand and mumbling about ‘pricks’ (ssh, don’t tell Daddy!) as Aunt Hermione puts on her work robes. I don’t really like the black material; it reminds me of Aunt Hermione’s husband’s daddy. But he’s far, far away now and nobody talks about him.    
  
It’s really nice to hear Aunt Hermione tell me they liked having me to stay. She makes me feel all wobbly inside when she hugs me. Then she makes a mummy face and says — in a mummy voice — “Didn’t we, Draco?” Aunt Hermione’s husband grunts and goes back to his coffee.    
  
Eventually, there’s a whoosh from the Floo. Aunt Hermione’s husband mutters something that sounds like “thank duck” and Daddy steps out of the fireplace. When I run over to him, he swings me around and around and gives me really sloppy kisses. It’s gross!    
  
Aunt Hermione’s husband’s coffee must have gone down the wrong way because he’s making funny choking noises.    
  
Aunt Hermione and Daddy chat for a few minutes then she gives me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. She promises I can come over again soon and she’ll read the next chapter of Hogwarts - A History to me. I can’t wait! It’s the one where they get the scary teacher who turns her husband into a ferret. It’s my favourite chapter.    
  
I wave at Aunt Hermione’s husband but he’s too busy trying to take off her work robes. She must have them on inside out. 

No, that can’t be right, the funny logo is in the right place.    
  
When Daddy and I get home, I run over to Mummy to say hi. Then I remember I’ve forgotten Jemima, my doll. Daddy says he’ll take me back to Aunt Hermione’s so I can get it.   
  
When we step through the Floo, Daddy throws his hands over my eyes and starts shouting at Aunt Hermione. He’s being very mean! So I tell him to stop giving out. Aunt Hermione’s husband is only helping Aunt Hermione, the same way Uncle Charlie helped Aunt Hermione’s husband’s mummy last week. 


	8. Fanfiction Has Its Uses

[ http://heichou-and-taichou-smiling.tumblr.com/post/165227257536 ](http://heichou-and-taichou-smiling.tumblr.com/post/165227257536)

Note: yes, mobile phones work at Hogwarts. _Why?_ Because I said so. 

FANFICTION HAS ITS USES

  
Hermione sat underneath the large oak, enjoying the hot summer sun warming her skin. Her tan was looking pretty good — the pasty pale ‘Winter Weasley’ look was gone — and her mad curls were more settled these days. Now, if only the boobs were a little bigger. Ah, well.    
  
She was glued to the screen; one of her favourite authors had updated and Hermione was desperate to find out if the main character chose the blond adonis or the dark Italian. Personally, she was hoping for both — she was rather fond of that author’s triads. And the weather was perfect for reading smut; if she got all sweaty and flushed, she could just use the heat as an excuse!   
  
She heard him before she saw him, her real life blond adonis.  _ Fuck!  _ He was gorgeous. Although there was more to Draco Malfoy than his looks. There was a place in Hermione’s heart that he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.    
  
“Morning, Granger!” He called, jogging past. This was his daily routine, a run around the Black Lake before breakfast during the week — when she’d be out for her morning walk — and at midday every weekend, the same time she would take to her tree on Saturdays and Sundays, regardless of the weather.    
  
“Morning,” she mumbled as he shot past, keeping her head down.    
  
Hermione didn’t notice the frown on his face as he passed.   
  
Twenty minutes later, he returned, panting slightly and standing right in front of her. She had no choice but to look up at him, instantly noticing the damp vest clinging to his pale skin. Although,  _ his  _ pale skin was fucking perfect. As for the cheekbones…   
  
She hadn’t read a word of smut yet she was sweaty and flushed.    
  
“So what’s wrong with you today, Granger? Did someone else check out the library book you wanted?”   
  
Oh, that did it! The phone was thrown down and she jumped up.   
  
“Why the fuck does everyone associate me with library books? I have other interests, you know!”   
  
“Like what?”   
  
Smutty fanfiction. And you.    
  
“I knit.”   
  
Draco sat down on a tree stump, conjuring up a bottle of water. Hermione had to turn away as he drained the refreshment. You can’t really blame the sun on damp knickers.    
  
“You knit.”   
  
“Em… yeah. And I like walking… and reading under this tree.”   
  
“I know. Why do you think I jog this way all the time?”   
  
“Wha-what?”    
  
“I said,” he spoke slowly, a hint of laughter in his voice. “I jog this way all the time. Just to pass you by or watch you sitting under your tree.”   
  
Draco reached out and took Hermione’s hand, tugging her in his direction until she found herself sitting on his knee. She automatically reached around his neck.    
  
He closed his eyes and breathed her in. “I’ve pictured us like this for so long,” he admitted. “I told myself if I didn’t tell you today how I felt about you, I’d volunteer as Theo’s dance partner the next time he wants to practise the Argentine Tango.”   
  
“I’d like to see that,” Hermione whispered.    
  
“No, you wouldn’t,” he laughed. “Theo prefers to play the female part.”   
  
“Draco…” she began, “What is this?”   
  
“This is me telling you I’m mad about you. This is you sitting on my knee, in my very sweaty arms, about to tell me you feel the same… I hope.”   
  
Hermione had read more than enough smutty fanfiction; it was about time she got the chance to act out some of her Draco-infused fantasies.    
  
“Showers are helpful in this hot weather, you know,” she teased. “How about I show you exactly how I feel?”   
  
Thank. You. Fanfiction. 


	9. The Great Lake

[https://www.deviantart.com/upthehillart/art/The-Great-Lake-600244248 ](https://www.deviantart.com/upthehillart/art/The-Great-Lake-600244248)

THE GREAT LAKE

The corridors were quiet as Hermione strolled along, trailing her fingers over the stone walls. Everyone was at The Burrow for Easter — Harry included — leaving her to enjoy two weeks of absolute… well...

She’d only bent the truth a little; her parents _would_ be home — just not yet. There were _other_ reasons to remain, in particular the events of the past week that left her breathless each night, her fingers bringing her body to new heights of bliss as she remembered each one.

It was after dark in the Restricted Section when Hermione had cast a Lumos, jammed her wand between her teeth, and climbed a set of library steps to reach the tome she was looking for. Pulling it from the shelf, she misjudged the weight of the massive volume and stumbled backwards. _Shit! This is going to fucking hurt!_

She never hit the floor, falling instead into strong arms that held her tightly to a well-sculpted chest.

“Don’t worry, Granger, I was saving the book. You just happened to be holding it.”

Hermione’s heart pounded, breath catching in her throat. Malfoy lowered her gently onto the nearest chair, summoning her wand from where it had fallen.

“Precious goods, Granger,” he smiled, trailing a fingertip down the side of her face, “good night.”

He walked away, leaving her in a pool of arousal.

The next few days passed in a flurry of wet knickers as Malfoy seemed to catch Hermione’s attention wherever she went — a hand tenderly brushing against hers in class, an intense stare as his lips and tongue lightly grazed a ripe strawberry at lunchtime. He was silently torturing her, and Hermione didn’t know how much more she could take.

Two mornings before the Easter break, she overheard him chatting to his friends. “No, I’m staying here; Mother has relatives visiting so I’m looking forward to the peace.”

“You’re welcome to join us, mate,” Blaise offered, his arm wrapping around Theo’s shoulder.

“With you two shagging like bunnies everywhere? Thanks, but no,” he laughed, locking eyes with Hermione across the classroom, “I’ve a feeling I’m going to enjoy the time here… on my own.”

She didn’t say a word, leaving immediately to find her friends. It would only be a little lie — a tweak of the actual truth. They were disappointed but understood, and she smiled as her treacherous heart practically thumped its way through her chest.

Two days later they were gone, and Hermione found herself alone, wandering the halls in search of Draco Malfoy.

Charming her wand, Hermione walked out through the school’s imposing front doors, her magic directing her towards the Great Lake.

She saw him from a distance — the muscles on his broad back flexing, his signature blond darkened by the water as he turned his head to breathe. Hermione had witnessed Ron’s epileptic attempt at a doggy paddle many times, but Malfoy’s movements were slick, smooth, and… _fuck!_... she was wet just thinking about what he would feel like sliding over her skin.

She reached the willow tree nearest the lake, leaning against it as she watched, feeling her body react — breath heaving, breasts swelling with desire, and nipples aching for his fingers. She gripped her skirt in both hands, desperate to touch her throbbing core.

“Draco,” she whispered, “please…”

It was stupid to think Malfoy heard but he suddenly twisted, his torso breaking through the current. Moving into the shallower water, he locked eyes with her, and strode purposefully towards the willow, his unclothed physique glistening from the water’s touch.

Hermione froze, fixed on his grey, smouldering stare. Knowing he was completely naked — and so obviously aroused — made it agonizingly difficult. He walked right up to her, raising a hand to cup her cheek and running his thumb along her bottom lip.

“Granger…”

He leaned down to ghost his lips across hers, his hand wet against her skin. She could feel his desire pressing against her stomach, through the uniform she desperately wanted him to tear away.

Hermione traced her fingertips across his abdomen, along his sculpted hip bones, down to where he pulsed with need. She wrapped her hand around him, pulling slightly on his long, thick cock, feeling his sharp intake pull her breath from her.

“You’re wet,” she murmured.

“Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” a sigh. “Oh, gods, yes.”

He traced his lips towards her ear, sucking her shivering skin.

“Merlin, I want you, Granger… so fucking much!”

“Draco...”

She hardly heard the spell, gasping as he bared her skin. The touch of their bodies set them on fire, the air igniting with passion. He slipped his fingers beneath her, moaning at the feel of her soaking folds.

“Wanted this… so long… _fuck_ …” He could hardly breathe, his body thrumming from her touch. “Need… you…”

Hermione cried out as fingers pierced her, Malfoy’s thumb flicking her clit. He thrust his body against hers, craving the friction, his cock weeping over her stomach.

“Please… Draco… fuck me,” she begged, not caring how desperate she sounded. She was desperate, touching herself every night to fantasies of his kiss, his caress. Her dreams were filled of making love, soft whispers, delicate promises. But — in this moment— she needed his passion, burned for his intensity.

Draco’s sudden movement answered her prayers; he pulled his fingers from her core — leaving her achingly empty — to grab the backs of her thighs and lift her up. Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist, reaching between their bodies to guide his cock into her waiting core. He pulled her towards him, sliding deeper inside, lowering his head to suck at her swollen breasts.

The strong arms that carried her in the library held her effortlessly, glistening folds licking his cock as they moved. Hermione threw back her head, crying out at the overwhelming feeling of being fucked by Draco, coming around him in waves of pure lust.

“Gods, Draco! I can’t… stop!”

She buried her head into the side of his neck, panting desperately against his skin.

He moaned deeply as her pulsing core brought on his own orgasm, dropping him to his knees. Together they fell onto the warm grass, still holding each other for support. But there was something else keeping them together, they recognised it as they looked in each other’s eyes. It was more than physical; it was something new.

It dressed them, returning them to the castle, where they walked hand in hand to the Room of Requirement.

It kept them there for most of the holidays, encouraging them to learn about each other both mentally and physically. It brought forgiveness, laughter, passion, and the hope of a future.

It brought them love.


	10. Faded T-shirts

[ http://awesomegriefel.tumblr.com/ ](http://awesomegriefel.tumblr.com/)

FADED T-SHIRTS

It was looked upon as rather controversial but Minerva McGonagall’s decision to pair Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger as Head Boy and Girl during their final year at Hogwarts was probably the best decision she’d ever made.

The looks on their faces when the announcement was read out during the first night’s feast was absolutely priceless; Hermione grasped Ginny’s hand — her only close friend returning to the school that year — sucking in deep breaths and trying not to panic. Draco’s pale skin faded to a whiter shade of polystyrene at the thought of spending the next ten months in close proximity to Granger. She was going to kill him; he was sure of it.

He’d be dead by Christmas — killed by the distress of sharing a dormitory with the girl who held his heart in her hands for the past four years.

Draco knew when it happened — the moment he’d fallen in love. When he watched her enter the Great Hall on the arm of that Bulgarian neanderthal — her periwinkle blue dress highlighting the healthy sunkissed tone of her skin — she practically glowed with natural beauty. Draco had made it his business to stand close to her at the drinks’ table, taking a moment to notice she wore no makeup — the Slytherin girls sharing enough foundation between them to rebuild half of Hogsmeade — and her hair was pinned up, elongating her slender neck that had Draco’s tongue tingling with need. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, and the shock of realising he had considered her filthy and uncultured for so long hit him like a brick.

Despite his upbringing, however, Draco truly believed from then on that Hermione Granger was completely out of his league.

Hermione, on the other hand, had been secretly in love with Draco since sixth year. She’d witnessed his complete breakdown and heartbreaking suffering whilst under Harry’s invisibility cloak. It wasn’t possible to help him; for once she hadn’t known what to do. As for Harry’s curse that had nearly killed Draco, she’d realised her concern for the Slytherin went deeper, buried within her heart.

She came up with the idea of spending Saturday mornings in their common room — sharing breakfast and planning out the next week. The first meeting was both mentally and physically painful; neither knew how to break the ice and start the conversation, and their stomach muscles were practically screaming from sitting upright with tapping fingers and china cups rattling.

It got easier for both of them as the weeks passed; Hermione began to come down to the common room wearing her pyjamas to find her tea poured and the toast already buttered just the way she liked it. Eventually, Draco would wear his favourite Muggle jeans and various faded t-shirts, leaning back further into the cushions as they’d chat about prefect rosters and Hogsmeade visits.

By December, Draco was confident he wasn’t actually going to die. His feelings hadn’t changed towards Hermione but he enjoyed her company so much, he found himself looking forward to Saturday mornings more and more.

Until the Friday evening Hermione sought him out to explain she wouldn’t be around the next day as Charlie was home for his birthday and McGonagall had given her and Ginny permission to visit The Burrow. Draco was devastated, his heart plummeting to his feet. What the fuck was he going to do? Sit on his own and butter his own bloody toast? Whoop-de-fucking-do!

“No problem, Granger,” he’d replied. “Enjoy yourself. I… I’m actually quite busy tomorrow anyway so it probably suits not to meet up.”

He was quick enough to notice her face fall slightly, his heart beating just a little faster with hope.

“Oh… well…” She’d nodded. “Okay. Well, we can reschedule.”

Before he could comment further, she was gone.

She’d arrived back at the school in the early evening, heading straight up to her room and changing into her Gryffindor pyjamas and matching fluffy socks. Charlie’s party had been fairly entertaining — it was also great to catch up with everyone — but Hermione’s thoughts kept drifting back to her common room and a certain Head Boy whose faded t-shirts where beginning to appear in her dreams.

Although, technically, the faded t-shirts were in the process of being ripped off in these particular dreams and joining the pile of lacy underwear on the floor — hers, obviously. Not his.

She lay down with a heavy sigh; considering the common room was empty she didn't fancy sitting on her own — she'd probably start rearranging their shared library. Again. Draco was apparently off somewhere… being very busy.

Draco had actually spent the morning sitting alone on the couch, buttering toast for two people before remembering Hermione wasn’t there. He rearranged the books on their bookshelves — subject, then author. That didn’t pass enough time so he rearranged them again — subject, author, cover colour. He had a shower, returned a book to the Library, walked back to the common room, and rearranged the books again — subject, author, alphabetical cover colour.

He was so lost without her company.

After his second shower, Draco headed down to the kitchens to ask the House-elves to bring him some dinner a little later in his room. The idea of cheerful company in the Great Hall was definitely not on the cards this evening. There was a bottle of his favourite Merlot in his room, maybe he’d drown in his lonely sorrows and pass out early.

He sighed loudly when the portrait hole opened for him, expecting the common room to welcome him with empty arms and cold darkness — even the portrait smiled sympathetically at him as he passed through. The candles lit immediately as he made his way towards the stairs, the fireplace roaring to life and heating up the chilly air. On any other day, the room would be instantly cosy but, tonight, it was empty. Just lonely and empty.

He climbed up to his room and threw himself on his bed. Merlin, he missed her so much it hurt. Draco didn’t want to imagine what Hermione was doing, who she was chatting to, or dancing with. It was a party after all. What if that dragon-wrestling Weasley swept her off her feet and she was in the process of eloping to Transylvania? Or the Weasel had pulled his limp cock out of Lav-Lav’s Chamber of Secrets and sworn his undying love to her? Or… or… or…

It was dark outside when he woke, the shock of his dream wearing off. This time it was one of the other Weasleys — the stuck-up poncy one banging Hermione on the Minister of Magic’s desk. Time for a third shower.

Draco changed into a pair of faded jeans and his favourite Slytherin t-shirt; he uncorked the bottle of Merlot and walked out the door, heading down the stairs and straight into Hermione, splashing her Gryffindor pyjama top with the deep red wine.

“Fuck! Granger, I’m... here!”

Before she could respond, he’d grabbed the bottom of his Slytherin t-shirt and pulled it over his head. Hermione was speechless, biting her lip at the view of muscular, chiselled skin in front of her eyes.

“Put this on,” Draco instructed, thrusting the material into her hand and heading towards the kitchenette.

She was here. She was here… and alone. He hoped.

Fuck! YES!

“Would you like a drink?” He asked, his back to her as he mouthed ‘please say yes, please say yes’ to himself.

“Yes, please,” she mumbled, pulling his t-shirt over her head. Merlin, the smell of his skin… it was… she was practically shaking with the desire that flowed through her just then.

Draco returned with two large glasses of wine and they took their usual positions at either end of the couch. She told him about the party — who was there, what gifts Charlie got… all the gossip — including the good news that Ron and Lavender were engaged due to her Chamber of Secrets now containing a basilisk of its very own. Draco’s thoughts, not her words.

Glasses were refilled and the conversation flowed, Hermione’s legs now draped across Draco’s lap as they chatted about anything and everything.

Then came the awkward moment where they both took a sip of wine and the silence surrounding them sounded twice as loud. They looked at each other, their thoughts screaming in their minds.

“Fuck, Hermione, I love you.”

“Draco, I’m so in love with you.”

It was now or never.

They spoke at the same time…

“I missed you today.”


	11. Nesting Lions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by TheOtterAndTheDragon

<https://www.instagram.com/p/BkwZhG_D6Ba/> - Lil6er

NESTING LIONS

Denial. A river in Egypt, right? Also the refusal to acknowledge an unacceptable truth or to admit it into consciousness.

Like a child who squeezes their eyes shut and believes no one can see them, Harry poured all his concentration into studying the inside of his eyelids, trying to pretend what he was looking at wasn’t actually real.

Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs had obviously produced a very, very faulty Marauder’s Map. _Obviously_.

There were many reasons why Hermione Granger would be on top of Draco Malfoy right now.

Many, many reasons.

Loads.

Quite a few.

A lot.

One or two.

Like… like… Malfoy was… was…

COLD!

That was it! Ecclesiastes 4:11. “Again, if two lie together, then they have heat: but how can one be warm alone?”

Thank you, Aunt Petunia, for the weekly bible lessons, although the _Cruciatus_ would have been less painful.

Sorted! Malfoy was suffering from hypothermia, having falling into The Great Lake, and Hermione — in a random act of kindness and true Gryffindor style — was lying on top of him to stop a bout of violent shivering. After all, hypothermia could lead to loss of limbs, you know.

The satisfaction derived from the hyperthermia theory only lasted seconds.

It was Malfoy’s birthday. Pansy had told Harry that morning when they were walking to class. Well… they just happened to be walking in the same direction… to the same class. That’s all.

Em… option two… perhaps they were fighting — Muggle style. Remember that right hook back in third year? Maybe Hermione had had enough of Malfoy’s endless taunts and snarky comments, planting him one right between those watery cement coloured eyes of his. So they were now in the middle of a major scrap where she was — of course — beating the shite out of the pale-faced git.

Nah, maybe not.

Eh…

There was the fleeting idea of Hermione giving the Stick of White Chalk CPR because he was choking — _please, Merlin, let him be choking_ — on a piece of apple or something.

Pansy didn’t like apples, she preferred bananas. She was good at eating bananas.

Come to think of it, with those green school robes covering that white skin, Malfoy looked like his own version of a Granny Smith walking around.

Hahahahahaha! That was kind of funny; Ron would’ve laughed.

Speaking of… where was Ron?

Probably stuck in a broom cupboard somewhere with his tongue down Millicent Bulstrode’s throat. Nice.

And Neville? He’d have found the apple joke hilarious! Oh, right… Tracey.

Ginny? Blaise.

Luna? Theo… or was it Terence? Adrian?

Gryffindors? Slytherins.

Harry — the Chosen One but not always the Brightest One — was beginning to see a pattern; a rather significant one at that.

They were all moving on, past the rivalries and personal vendettas.

Maybe he could discuss his theory in more detail with Pansy.

But Malfoy? Ugh! Anyone but fucking Malfoy.

Ah, who was he kidding? Even Ron had pointed out how happy Hermione was looking these days now that her relationship with Draco was now out in the open — thanks to Neville tripping over a hastily discarded bra in Greenhouse Four.

The subsequent shock of what he’d accidentally discovered — having dashed out of the greenhouse for fear of being punched by a half-dressed and fuming Slytherin — resulted in a verbal showdown between the Golden Trio with Hermione standing up for Draco with every fibre of her being. He didn’t even get a word in edgeways, although it wasn’t from lack of trying. Eventually, Malfoy silenced her wandlessly and extended his hand to Harry and Ron, asking for their permission to date their best friend.

Ron, with Millie firmly in his mind, accepted the truce immediately, knowing he’d have Hermione fighting in his corner when his own relationship came out. Harry — automatically assuming the role of Hermione’s big brother — took more convincing. He also didn’t hear Ron’s whispers to Neville about him still being firmly in denial about the fact he fancied the arse off Pansy Parkinson. But Harry quickly relented once he realised Hermione was silently about to hex his balls off.

But that didn’t mean she had to keep Malfoy warm, or play fisticuffs, or… or… give the twat CPR. _No, no_ . It just meant they could chat… about things… and stay six feet apart at all times. And stay out of the Room of Requirement… and the Heads’ dormitory… and the Slytherin common room, the broom cupboards on the second, third, and seventh floors, the Prefects’ bathroom, the empty classrooms on the fourth and sixth floors, the Astronomy Tower, the Restricted Section of the library, and… _oh, fuck!_... the Gryffindor changing room…

Seriously, Hermione? That pale arse in the Gryffindor showers? _Ugh!_ Wait till Pansy hears about this!


	12. Pick a Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something small to celebrate safewordisdevilsnare's birthday - so cheesy, it has mould.

**A normal day in the Malfoy household, September 1999**

"Hermione... em... help?"

"What's wrong, Draco?" Hermione shouted out from the kitchen, drying her hands. It never ceased to amaze her how the tea towels were as plush as the bed sheets. 

"I... eh... broke the cup holder on the computer."

"Draco... there is no—”

She walked back into her little office, just off the kitchen in the Manor. Narcissa had wanted to give her an entire office suite but Hermione preferred the little room which overlooked the rose garden and was considerably nearer the kettle — for when she wanted to make her  _ own _ cup of tea.

And a writer drinks a  _ lot _ of tea. 

She was compiling her autobiography, telling the story of her childhood prior to Hogwarts, her life following the moment she’d found out she was a witch, the impending war, those days on the run, and the part everyone was dying to read — how she fell in love with Draco Malfoy. She figured all the witches would just skip to that chapter while the wizards would go straight to the 1994 Quidditch World Cup. 

But that was all irrelevant just then. 

There was her boyfriend of just over a year, frantically syphoning spilt tea from her keyboard with one hand, whilst smearing it across the dripping monitor with a monogrammed handkerchief. 

“Fuck! I’m so sorry, Hermione,” Draco whined as he rubbed faster. “Stupid, bloody cup holder just cracked and the tea went everywhere.”

Hermione took a deep breath and calmed herself, preparing for what she knew the answer would be. 

“Draco,” she began, “where did you put your mug?”

“Here.” He lifted two flat pieces of plastic, putting them together to make a square. “I put the mug down, the plastic cracked and fell off that box thing, and my drink went everywhere! And I mean everywhere!” He indicated to his trousers, “I look like I’ve wet myself. And I broke my favourite mug!”

Another deep breath. 

“That’s not a cup holder, Draco. It’s for putting discs in the computer. How did you even…? Nevermind, just step back.”

With a flourish of her wand everything was dried and back to normal. 

“I’m going to make more tea.” She turned on her heel and went back into the kitchen. “Just press any key and make sure the computer’s still working, will you?”

Silence.

“Eh… Hermione?”

“Yes, Draco.”

“I can’t find the any key.”

“ _ Any _ key. Just a random key.”

“Oh, okay. Sharp or flat?”

“What?”

“Sharp or flat? Does it matter?”

“Draco.” Another sigh. “They’re not piano keys. Any bloody key! Any one at all. I’ve shown you how to use the bloody machine so many times at this stage.” 

“Yeah, but it’s so complicated,” he did his best Ron impression and moaned loudly, “I don’t have enough fingers and it doesn’t listen to me or react to my spells. Is it only spelled to your voice? And why is it called Windows? I can’t see through it. And I told you before this computer isn’t suitable for the English language. What country speaks Qwerty? And there’s a—” 

Hermione’s favourite sound filtered through his stupid questions — that  _ click _ that indicates the kettle has boiled and the water ready to pour. 

“Draco, I love you, but can I please just ask you to step away from my computer now?” She called over her shoulder. “I think it would be best if I checked it out. Give me a sec, okay?”

“But you asked me to press any key.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” Merlin, she needed some tea. 

“So any key at all?”

Nice… strong… builders’ tea… with… oh, forgot the milk.

“I’m just trying to help, Hermione. What key shall I press?”

“It really doesn’t matter.”

“Any one.” Thud. Thud. Thud. “Hermione? Hermione? What’s that noise?”

“It’s nothing,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead.  _ Note to self, refrigerator doors hurt.  _ “I’m just getting the milk.”

“So, any key, right?”

“Yes, Draco… any key.”

“How about ‘m’?”

“I don’t care.”

“I could try an ‘a’.”

By now the tea bags were being squeezed to within an inch of their lives with frustration. 

“Whatever.”

“I’m rather fond of ‘r’.”

“I really don't care—”

“What’s wrong with ‘r’? It’s a lovely letter, rolls off the tongue so well…  _ rrr _ … Herrrmione… rrr… rrroleplay… rrrimming… rrravaging… rrravishing… rrrumpy-bumpy…”

Hermione was now visualising tiny Dracos strapped to the tops of the mugs and getting waterboarded by the milk.

“Then there’s ‘y’. Such a strange little letter, don’t you think, Hermione? Hermione?”

Another sigh. “I’m still here!” She called out, adding under her breath, “Wishing you’d shut up.”

“Can I press two keys at once, Hermione? Like, maybe, ‘m’ and ‘e’? Can I do that? Like a piano? Does it work like that? If I press them both at the same time? Can I?”

That was the last straw.

“Draco! Just shut the fuck up, will you?” She stormed back into her beloved haven, determined to turf him out and ward the room against him. “I don’t care what fucking button you press! What key you spit on… whatever! Okay? All I asked was for you to press any key. ANY. KEY! ANY FUCKING KEY! I don’t care! I don’t care if it’s ‘m’, or ‘a’, or a couple of ‘r’s, or a ‘y’ or a—”

She was on such a roll it took a few moments to realise Draco was standing in front of her computer with a small box in his hand, or that the letters he’d spelt out where the ones she dreamed he’d use one day, or that she’d left the tea in the kitchen. 

“Are you—”

“I am.”

“Really?”

“Yes. So… will you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“YES!”

The tea was stone cold by the time the rather  _ unusual _ marriage proposal was celebrated by Hermione’s bare arse pressing against all the keys on the non-English keyboard, and the monitor crashing to the floor in an explosion of plastic and wires. 

But it was one the witches would certainly enjoy when they read Hermione’s book. 

Happy birthday, L xx   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Dracos were actually waterboarded, or teabags harmed, during the making of this drabble.


End file.
